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Thursday, March 15, 2007

From the Archives

I am no longer running around like a headless chicken in advance of next week's conference.

This is kind of the eye of the storm, where there's not THAT much more that can be done until I'm on-site.

And because my body seems to know the first round of super-stress has ended, it has gone and gotten me sick. Wheee! I have a cold, and am exhausted, and pumping fluids and vitamins and Airborne and such into my system. Good times.

Anyway, I thought of this last night, for no good reason. Maybe it's all the weird things in my system, maybe all the baby stuff with my sister and Charlie that's been banging around in my brain off-hours. Whatever it is, I thought of my Aunt Jane, and how I miss her.

And I laughed at the story about how I first really met her.

* * *

I was a verbal kid. Far as I can tell, I never shut up. (Yeah. This here on-blog rambling-ness? NOT NEW.)

And there is some debate about exactly how old I was the first time my Aunt Jane visited me, but I was a baby. I was definitely under 2 years old, and small enough to be propped up in one of those table-top bassinet things.

Jane's visit was a big deal. She and my mom had grown up together and been very close for much of their lives. But by that time, Jane was single and living in Minnesota, and my mom had up and moved to the East Coast and -- from the looks of things -- settled down.

I don't know how long it had been since they'd seen each other, but I am sure it had been ages. I picture them reuniting like a Hallmark moment: Jane, entering the house, hugging my mom and then walking over to see The Baby. I picture soft lighting and shared tears of joy and familial love.

Well, except.

Jane did enter the house and I'm sure she and my mom hugged, and she did come over to me. But for whatever reason, perhaps because she didn't expect it from so small a child, or maybe she'd forgotten that I was talking already, she instinctively launched into that coochie-coo thing that grown-ups do.

She bent over me, and stuck out her forefinger and began swirling it as she cooed, inches from me.